The King and the Lionheart
by BlackHairdye.SilverFindings
Summary: "My son has mistresses, my son has concubines, my son has whore. My son has fathered ten bastards. My son is worth nothing! "Find him a wife worthy of both his and her crown. Find him a wife who can teach him to be human again." " When Odin grows tired of his son's arrogance, he must be taught humility, by none other then a woman. Thor/The Other Boylen Girl crossover
1. Chapter 1

A/N: so. I have no life and I watch too many movies. That's the story behind this. Yeah. Sorry.

Warnings:

Sex

Talk of sex

Boy sex

Thor/Loki

Thor/Jane

Silliness

Language.

also. Sorry for spelling and grammer.

**The King and the Lionheart**

**Chapter 1: The King's Name is a Tower of Strength**

There is music in the court that night, soft song that filled the courtier's ears with visions of lands lost and power gained, of the old world and of the new. Songs made to mock and to praise.

_"Who loved a lord and who laughed aloud  
At the moan of the merry man moping mum  
Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum  
Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb  
As he sighed for the love of a lady. _

The king sits above them all, watching waiting. A goblet of wine clutched tight in his hand, a frown deep in his features. Long has it been since the king has been pleased. He is getting on in years, his face set with deep lines, an eye lost long ago in the quest for wisdom, and sometimes he worries for his kingdom.

"Where is my son?" He asks.

"Balder is there sir," the answer comes. The king shakes his head. He wants not his second born.

"No. My first born. Where is Thor?" Odin asks it of his steward. His steward swallows, almost louder then the music and looks around, grasping for an answer.

"Where is my son, where is my first born, where is he?" Odin demands. When the king demands, you answer. When you can.

_"Hey-di, hey-di, misery me, lack-a-day-de  
He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb  
As he sighed for the love of a lady._

_I have a song to sing, O!  
It is sung to the knell of a church-yard bell  
And a doleful dirge ding-dong o  
It's a song of a popinjay bravely born  
Who turned up his noble nose with scorn  
At the humble merry maid-"_

"WHERE IS ME SON?!" the shout startles all, the clang of the tray echoes, the musicians stop, the courtiers stop, everything stops for a moment, a goblet once full of mead rolls in the silence, a dull clang of metal over stone.

"I… He is…." The steward stumbles down the steps, away from the enraged king, away from the throne, away.

"How can you serve me if you can not keep track of my son?!" Odin shouts, the steward puts an arm up to defend himself. He believed the weak arm of a squire would deter a king. Odin looks angry, a fearful growl building in his chest.

"Loki!" He barks, beckoning the boy from the shadows. "Find your brother." The raven haired boy nods, a simple motion and heads off, away from the fun and frivolity, from the honeymead and men, from the court of the king. As he steps out the door, he can hear his adoptive father shouting for music, asking why they have stopped. Loki sighs and wonders if Thor would ever know what he did to their father. What he does to _him_.

Loki doesn't spend time searching for Thor in the places he knows him not to be in. He knows where the prince will be. He knows and he walks straight there, briskly, his boots clicking slightly on the stone. He meets few people on his way to the prince's chambers, those he does meet, bow their heads and he nods politely back. He is the reject prince. He holds only respect because they fear Odin. And it is right to fear Odin.

The door to Thor's room is thick oak, studs of black iron to accentuate it. It takes two guards to open it for Loki when he arrives, the sounds of Thor and his nights entertainment filling the hall. Loki nods apologetically to the guards before entering the room, the door slamming behind him. Thor's bed chambers are bright and open, thick red velvet hangs from the four-poster bed, and furs cover the stone flour. The room smells of leather and sweat and honey and rain and blood and dirt and _sex_. For those are the two things the son of Odin does best. He wars and he loves.

"Oh, oh, ooooh" the noises come from the bed, big enough to house most of Thor's concubines at once. Noises of skin on skin, panting and moaning, of pleasure, and of sin. Loki tries not to so much as divert his eyes. He has seen his brother naked many a time, and he has seen him with woman (and men) more.

"Thor." Loki calls out, crossing to the serving tray and pouring himself a drink. "Father is asking after you."

Thor looks up from the woman under him, a redhead Loki notices, "Father?" Thor asks, his hips keeping up a frantic pace, "Why, uh, now?" Thor grunts a lot when he makes love. Loki knows this. Loki's been Thor's brother for years. Loki's been Thor's confidante for years.

"There's a banquet going on. If you hadn't noticed." Loki replied, leaning against the table. "He's not very happy that you left to come play with one of your trollops." The girl is too intent on whatever his brother is doing with his hips to take notice of the insult.

Thor is back to her neck, leaving angry marks that make Loki uncomfortable and irritated. "Father can, uh, entertain a few dukes with out me." Loki's surprised that Thor can even get that many words out of his mouth at a time like this.

"Father threw a tray." Loki adds watching the couple on the bed with curious eyebrows. Curious and innocent eyebrows. "He also yelled a lot."

The noises from the bed get louder in response and Loki rolls his eyes walks way, picking his way over the furs to Thor's wardrobe. Loki had been sent to find him and return him to the banquet, not watch him bed some girl. If Thor was to be gracefully received by his father, he would need the proper clothing.

Loki was busily searching through his brother's wardrobe for something that was _not_red or silver, or some combination of the two. It was hard, but Loki knows the blue and brown doublet he searches for exists. He's seen his brother wear it. He's ran his hands over the velvet, over the buttons. It's in here. He's seen Thor wear, and he's taken it off Thor.

"What do you search for?" Thor asks, his voice suddenly behind his brother, the soft linen of his bed shirt grazes Loki's wrist when Thor reaches over to take Loki's goblet from where it sits upon a table.

"Clothing." Loki answers curious if the girl has fallen asleep, he figures she has. His brother tend to tire out the ones he sleeps with... Well _most_people.

"That's_ my_mead, thank you." Loki snaps, but his voice doesn't have any real anger behind it. His shared so much with his brother that he has no reason to be angry about a stolen drink. They have shared and stolen many thing between them.

"Actually." Thor replies, his other hand cupping Loki's shoulder, thumb skimming lightly over the milk white flesh. "It's mine." Loki has a hard time admitting Thor's right.

It's when Thor's lips close over Loki's jaw that his fingers find the velvet of the doublet he's looking for. His brother's lips are almost as soft as the velvet. His brother's stubble tickles Loki's cheeks. It make him want to stop. And it makes him want to keep going. But he knows they cant, he knows that there are nobles and he knows father is waiting for them and he knows that sooner or later they will get caught. Sometimes he, himself, cannot tell between right and wrong, for the mind does not think in right and wrong, but in sense and nonsense.

"Stop," Loki murmurs, pushing Thor away, "You have to get dressed." Thor laughed, a deep sound in his chest that Loki can feel.

"Why?" Thor asked "Why am I to dress, when I will just discard of the clothing later tonight?" Loki can feel Thor's smug smile and it makes him want to turn and hurt Thor, but he doesn't. He can't. He turns and thrust the doublet into Thor's hands.

"Put it on. Now."

Thor's laugh follows Loki as he leaves with a twist of his heel.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: So Wise So Young, They Say, Do Never Live Long

It's hot inEnglandfor once, a temperate breeze blowing lightly over the assembled peoples. Everyone is in the wooden seats outside the palace, all the assembled nobles, the king and the royal family, knights and soldiers, and countless peasants, all to witness the tourney in the name of Baldur's 16th name day. All gathered to witness the acts of bravery that would be demonstrated by men in boiled leather and heavy helms, little boys with sticks and little boys with knives.

It was all to be great fun.

"You're not scared are you?" Thor asks leaning against the wooden stable, one hand on his hip.

The woman he talks with looks back at him, over her shoulder and rolls her eyes as her hands works at the buckles on her horse's bridle. She shakes her head as if to strengthen her point and her wash of dark hair shimmers in the sunlight. "Are you mocking me? That word is not in my vocabulary."

Thor laughs and claps his hands on the girl's shoulders pulling her in to a hug. "Oh, Sif. You truly are the toughest soldier I know." Sif shrugs him off as she moves to tighten her horse's saddle.

"Leave me be." She says "I'm no soldier." Thor moves to the other side of her horse.

"Fine." He says gazing at her over the horse "You're tougher then most of the soldiers I know. Happy?" Sif brakes a smile at him before pushing the {flappy thing} up and hitting Thor in the face with it. "That's no way to treat your prince." He says rubbing his nose.

"If you were a real prince you would be trying to stop a lords daughter from ridding in the lists." She replies watching him watch her put up her hair from the opening of the stable again.

Thor shrugs "Like there's anything I could do to stop you." He smiles and handes over her helmet. Slipping the helmet over her head she became one of the faceless list riders. "Ready?" He asks as her squire, one that Thor had threatened into serving her, ran into the stable, kicking up dirt as he went.

"Lady Si-" he clears his throat "Ser Seth, they're ready for you."

Sif looks down at Thor after she acknowledges her squire "Walk with me for a bit?" Thor can see her swallow.

"Of course." he replies and walks her out of the stables, until they paused at the entry, sunlight streaming in, lighting the engraving upon Sif's breast plate. "You'll do fine." Thor promises shading his eyes. "Better then fine. Who do you ride against?"

"Ser Fandral."

Thor snorts "You'll unhorse him easy."

"Then Ser Skurge." Was the muffled reply. Thor blanches.

"Well..." He clears his throat. "Don't die." Is his only response. He can feel Sif's hot glare on his neck. "Don't worry. You doesn't kill girls." _Too bad he can't tell you're a girl. _

"You're reassuring." Sif mutters, the retort almost lost in her face mask. "Why don't you ride, afraid?"

Thor chortles as the horns for the games sounded "That's your call Lord Seth." Thor says his large hand coming down on to the back-end of Sif's mare, the horse startles with a loud whinny before trotting away from the offensive prince. Thor just laughs and makes his way to the royal seats.

"Where've you been?" Loki asks as Thor takes his cushioned seat next to his brother.

Thor shrugs and calls for mead. "I was conversing with the riders." He tells his brother. Loki looks at him suspiciously.

"It's my job to do the lying, brother." Loki snaps crossing his arms. Thor give him a look in return.

"What's got your tongue in a twist today?" Thor asks following Loki's gaze to where Baldur sits, smiling happily as he waves to the crowd, handing a red rose to one of the peasant girls. "Jealous?" Thor smiles, nothing can dampen his mood it seems. Not even his baby brother getting more attention than himself.

"I was born jealous." Loki replies as one of the heralds comes forward and holds up his arms signaling the crowd's attention. Thor leans forward slightly in his seat, his eyes darting to the left of the field where the grey mare paws the ground. From this distance Sif looks like a man.

"In honor of our great and noble prince Baldur, we begin the day's tilts with a match of Ser Fandral of England," There is great cheering from the woman, "And Ser Seth of Dublin." Thor claps to himself along with the scattered cheers in the crowd. "Ser Fandral, state your ready." Fandral's lance arm goes up, followed shortly by Sif's. Thor's not worried about her in this match, Fandral's good, but he's just 'good'. Sif is great. Thor's tilted against her in the practice ring in the late nights. She's unhorsed _him _many a time.

Thor's right not to worry, Sif unhorses Fandral in their first tilt, and breaks her lance on him in the next two. He breaks his lance once against her helm, nothing Thor knows she can't handle.

The next four tilts pass quickly with out event, Thor barely registers who wins and who loses, busily drinking his fill and teasing the serving girl. At one point he leaves with her, Loki too disgusted to go find Thor when Odin asks for him. He just says that his brother will be back shortly. And he is just in time for Sif's second ride, against the giant that is Skurge. Thor can hardly keep his seat this time, fidgeting nervously, uncomfortable every way he sits. The only one that notices is Loki. But his brother keeps his mouth silent, too curious as to why Thor's so anxious.

Everything about Skurge is bigger then Sif. His horse makes hers look like a pony in comparison, and in his hand the lance looks like a child's toy. Sif herself looks like a little girl, tiny and frail in comparision. Thor himself has never tilted against Skurge, Thor himself is too proud to tilt against Skurge, Thor is _afraid _to tilt against Skurge.

Thor's in the edge of his seat even before the match starts, and when the horses start toward each other, its all his strength not to stand and stop the tilt. He knows Sif will have his head if he does. She'll personally chop it off.

The moment when the lances collide is like a death sentence, longer then a should be, and louder, the cracking making Thor wince and he stands as Skurge topples backwards off his horse, Sif following suit. The dust is heavy but through it Thor can see Sif's helm laying in the dust, the strap broken, possibly from her earlier tilt. Skurge gains his feet first looking around for his opponent, who lays in the dirt a few feet away, her fall of dark hair falling into her face as she tries to stand.

There is a collective murmur among the crowd. Thor can see Sif's father stand, his face a mask of anger.

"Where is my sword!" Skurge calls, his shout filling the arena. "Let me bring death to his pretender!" Thor can't believe his eyes when someone actually brings him his sword, Sif backing away, spitting blood, her armored arm crossed over her chest. Thor jumps over the railing quicker then he figures possible, to stand in between the two.

"Stop!" He shouts as Sif's squire runs out to her. "I'll ride in her stead! I will ride for her!" The crowd murmurs again, Odin himself standing now.

"My son." He calls "Watch your tongue, for it seems to want to plead your life for the girl's."

"I know what I am doing." Thor hisses back to his father.

"Then know that if you lose, your life will be claimed in her name." Odin held his hand out to Sif who was leaning heavily against her squire.

"I am aware." Thor responded, watching as his brother's eyebrows raise. "I will die in her stead... If I lose."

Skurge laughs now, seemingly content with this turn of events "You _will_lose, little princess."

Odin watches his son retreat to the stables to ready himself for the lists. He turns his one eyed gaze upon Sif's retreating back, as she is taken from the arena. The first time his son has shown some kind of honor in mouths, all for a woman. This gives Odin an idea.

* * *

There was party that night and the next day and the night again, a celebration in the tavern in Thor's name. He'd won against Skurge, unhorsed the man even. It had been a great match really, and now, the only way to celebrate a victory of the kind was the drink. To drink and to wench, to fight amongst themselves and to toast to the Prince, who still hadn't cleaned up, his face dirt smeared, and his neck still stinking of sweat. But there was a girl in his lap, and a tankard in his hand, and the world seemed right. He toasted his way through the night, among his friends, Fandral, and Hogun, and Volstagg, and Sif, and even Skurge. Because in the end, children will be children, and princes will be princes. And they will not care a wink for the world around them.

But not everyone thinks that two days of celebration is the way a prince should be spending his time.

"My son has his mistresses, my son has his concubines, my son has his _whores_," Odin shouts throwing a goblet to the floor, letting it's noise ring out around the hall. "My son has bastards and my son is arrogant, and vane. My son lacks _humility_! My son is not worth his kingdom! His is worth nothing! There is no one better at war or at killing, but he will run this kingdom to the ground before his first year as king is up." Odin tosses a table over, the maps and papers upon it scattering, ink spilling. "War is impending and I have no heir to give my throne to. I have no deserving heir. I can not burden sweet, innocent Baldur with this, kingship will drive his wits to Hel's hounds" He speaks to the shadows then, turning to the servants, the squires, the stewards, the lords, to his foster son slinking in the shadows. "Go. Find him a wife worthy of both crowns. Find him a wife who can teach him to be human again."


End file.
